Prompt 12 (Poetry Marathon)

Chosen first line of the book — >  “The pain hit with sudden furry”




As the pain hit with sudden furry,

I stumble back acting in a hurry,

Even I’m not chasing any.

I am just there, a bit weary.


The bad memories keeps knocking back.

I’m a fool to even bother by it.

I was on feet trying to open the door,

Until I remember your face once more.


Ring the bell to hit this head.

I am long gone and dead,

I remember, that’s what you said.

So be gone, just be dead.


(C) M. E. Flores



Prompt 11 (Poetry Marathon)



You always share latvia’s story,
A small country with big history.
A hills surrounds with chilling feels,
A place I wish to see for real.

You promise to take me there one day,
Though I live a million miles away.
I hope to steal a quick visit.
Take me there, even just for few minutes.

Imagining that quick strangers chat,
A walk in a small town, when no one’s around.
Or a feel of chilling wind in my head,

Just like what you have said.


A long ride, as you share few stories,
Of country memories and old songs.
A travel that will not last that long.
Yet a kind of memory that is never wrong.

(C) M. E. Flores

Prompt 10 (Poetry Marathon)

“After The Moon”


It’s the lightest dark,

And the night seems calm,

As the moon speaks —

And capture my heart.


All my senses comes back again,

After losing them for a day.

I got my eyes enclose to its mystery,

The beauty of the moon becomes my memory.


I got my ears back but the silence remains,

The loudest silence I heard today.

As the night grows deep

As the world still sleep.


I got my smells back, but the chill distract me.

The moon speaks to me,

And I on my full attention clear.

A scene of just staring to it without fear.


All my feelings comes back,

Slowly, then all at once.

All of it comes back to attack,

Alive, despite of a crack.



Prompt 9 (Poetry Marathon)



I got a porridge for breakfast,

And a bottle of milk

Mask of memory from last night’s dream.

My eyes wide open, but am I in a dream?


I saw a tree line and a strange cottage within.

Firefly sparks as they line up to lead.

Meanwhile, I am on my feet.

Gasping my breath, as I run back to the street.


Mama tap my back, as I get myself back,

Her spooky voice ask, “Was it a bad dream?”

A strong silence before I said a thing.

And I said Mama, “Are you for real?”.


(C) M. E. Flores

Prompt 8 (Poetry Marathon)




Wild cat! Wild cat! set it on fire

Burst it out!

Pine trees and oaks sleeps beneath the silent night.

Yes! that old oaks and pines.


Questions about old soul,

Raising hands for your attention.

Can you see them from your rear view?

The dark nights of old blue.


Two hands up, suprise me back

It surprise me back, again and again.

Old soul runs back and forth

Left or right, before the light breaks back.


(C) M. E. Flores

Prompt 7 (Poetry Marathon)

“Season Of You”

Once we met, during old summer ride

Just two young and old sober mind.

Banana cue with halo-halo as the treat,

As we walk home as we speak.


Your dream was to become a soldier.

An old lonely profession.

You said; “One day, I’ll fight for freedom.”

But it seems like freedom killed your mom.


Summer is long gone, just as you do.

I even wonder if you read those emails I sent you.

You’re in a lone place with a crowd misplaced.

You left me through the rain of disgrace.


The rain was hard, it blocks as you speak,

My voice was breaking, a little weak.

A scary sound was heard to blast.

Later that year, I received your ash.


(C) M. E. Flores (more…)

Prompt 6 (Poetry Marathon)

“Nothing Like today”


A tune of morning bloom,

Next to you, Inside the room.

The smell of perfume grasp on our sheets,

And I laugh, as you entangle my feet.


The breeze echo like luluby,

And your laugh sounds like mine.

As each sounds combine to create a


A sound of unforgotten story.


We end each day with sunsets view,

As I am leaning towards the soft you.

It’s a mystery of life, not yet foretold.

You’re sweet touch as we walk by the road.


(C) M. E. Flores



Prompt 5 (Poetry Marathon)

“Imprinted Heart”


Young like the wind as it lifts us,

A building like our little hour glass.

Not in the world we can ever be,

Hand in hand, eyes close — we are free.


We figure the mystery of old,

And how they ended up a false hope.

Can we remain as young as this?

An old answer can never give.


We imprinted hearts from the old log.

Gone with the wind, remains fog

We lost the story of an old prince frog.

A reminsce in a room, a coffee and a mug.


(C) M. E. Flores


#Prompt 5






Prompt 4 (Poetry Marathon)

A letter to rain


You’ll see the summer city soon,
just like how I promise you that noon.
I hope you’ll see the things you want to see.
you’ll create a good new memory

I’lI always know you’re more than just an emotional dude.
back then at first meet, you thought i was rude.
but that’s just an old forgotten story.
A story of you, hidden in my memory.

I am the happiest person as I heard the news.
the smart and shy you made it again.
I heard you met a girl name Ruth.
you said, she speaks pure truth.
you learn to love her just like I did before.
and you’re back to that old happiness door
I’m sorry If I shut that door before.
But I am long gone and won’t do that anymore.




Prompt 3 (Poetry Marathon)

“Different People”

In a world of a chaotic mind,
We veer death as a common wine.
Friend or foe, people versus people,
Who are we to know the real reason.
A long walk during summer season.
An old words that we need to mention.

We are people, we are all different people.

One day, we will learn the difference of two,
Colors and faces will be nothing to you
A treason to mankind old fathom blue.
Did our old heroes trace a clue?
Who are these heroes anyways?
An asian, american, a latin or an english man.
None of all, I am never a fan.
All of them just shooting guns.

We are people, we are all different people.

One day, we shall see an old fuck up memory.
Humanity can be soon an old fuck up story.
Bend it now, belief of an old.
See each other as one and the same,
Forget the history and those painted pain.
The game is never about to whom we blame.

We are people, we are all different people.